


Shield-Maiden

by crimsonherbarium



Series: By Freya's Hand [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Cerys is Queen of Skellige, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February 2019, Iron Maiden - Freeform, Lesbian Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Shameless Smut, Shieldmaidens, Skellige - Freeform, Sparring, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Tribadism, Tribbing, no beta we die like men, queen in the streets warrior in the sheets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 13:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium
Summary: Jutta an Dimun promised herself to the first man who could best her in combat.First, Freya sent her a witcher. Then, Freya sent her a woman.





	Shield-Maiden

Jutta dodged, much too slowly, and felt the flat of the sword slam into her side. She dropped to her knees as the blow knocked the wind from her lungs, clutching her bruised ribs and coughing. 

“I yield!” she wheezed, fighting to drive air back into her chest. 

Cerys promptly sheathed her blade, still grinning from the exhilaration of combat. She waited patiently for Jutta to catch her breath, and then extended a hand to pull her to her feet. 

“That wasn’t bad. You’re still lettin’ your inside elbow drift too far, though.” Cerys mimed a strike. “That’s where I keep findin’ my openin’.”

“I know. Old habits die hard.” Jutta sheathed her own blade and stretched cautiously, stopping when her bruised muscles began to protest. She probed her side with her fingers and winced. 

“I’m sorry,” Cerys said with a look of guilt. “I should’ve pulled my strike more.”

Jutta shook her head. “I should’ve blocked it. Should know better by now.”

“Don’t forget, you beat me yesterday,” Cerys said amicably. “Besides, there’s not a man in all Ard Skellig that can make me sweat this much just from sparrin’.”

“I haven’t even started to make you sweat,” Jutta leaned in close and murmured into her ear. Cerys flushed red at that, though the casual observer might have attributed it to the cold or simply the exertion of training exercises. Jutta grinned.

Cerys reached down and took her hand. “Come with me.”

Jutta let herself be led from the windy ramparts into the stark and dim interior of the castle, trailing behind the queen. She’d been this way before, dozens of times in fact, but she liked it when Cerys took charge. She was pulled along a series of corridors, around two sharp right turns and one left, as the walls slowly progressed from unadorned stone to being lined with fine tapestries of crimson and gold. The guttering torches that lit the rest of the castle slowly gave way to candelabras on tables and oil lanterns. 

They reached a heavy oak door, built to withstand a siege. Cerys unlocked it with an equally heavy brass key, and the two slipped beyond it. 

Cerys’s chambers were larger than even the Jarl’s house on Faroe. Though the queen had eschewed much of the finery that was offered as a simple fact of her new position, the bedspread sewn of white furs far outstripped even the nicest adornment Jutta had had in her simple hut. It was her turn to blush, as she thought of all the sleepless nights they’d spent there. Seven fortnights since she’d left Faroe. Only nine of those nights spent in her own bed. 

Cerys’s chambers were warm. Warm in a way that was nigh impossible, given how large the castle was, and how the mountain it was carved from leached the heat away through its stone. Jutta shrugged off the fur-lined hood she’d thrown on over her gambeson in an attempt to stave off the chill. 

“I hope you’re not plannin’ on stoppin’ there,” Cerys said coyly, watching Jutta from where she stood by the fire. The flickering light the flames cast about the room served to highlight the angles of her face. Jutta’s eyes roamed them hungrily. 

This wasn’t what she’d expected of life. She’d sworn to Freya that she’d wed the first man who could best her in combat and bear his children. Freya had instead sent her a witcher. 

The witcher had turned out to be a blessing himself, encouraging her to seek out the world rather than taking advantage of a reluctantly-given offer. Jutta had left Faroe that very night, sailing out in search of a worthy opponent. A man that could bring her to her knees. 

No such man had appeared. She’d spent quite a lot of time on her knees since then, though.

She unlaced her boots, leaving them where they stood, and pulled her mail shirt from her shoulders, casting it aside. She was down to her gambeson and her trousers now, wearing less armor in front of the queen of Skellige than she’d worn in front of any man before. 

Jutta turned her attention to the buckles and ties of her gambeson, working at loosening them enough to slip it from her shoulders. Cerys grinned as it fell away, leaving Jutta bare-chested before her. 

The shield-maiden did not stop. She did not yield, even before her queen. Rather, she crossed the chilly flagstone of the chamber and pulled her into a deep, ravenous kiss. The sort of kiss that the people of the other Northern Kingdoms would have called treasonous. Were she Temerian or even Nazairi, she’d likely have lost her head for this. Jutta grinned and pulled Cerys closer, raising her own nimble fingers to the buckles that held the plate mail to her shoulders. To the leather belt that fastened her gambeson at the waist. Both fell to the ground with a clatter. 

Cerys allowed herself to be divested of her armor, as Jutta’s tongue swirled over hers in the flickering light of the fire. Her boots, her gambeson, and the ink-blue dress she wore beneath it fell one by one from her body, puddling on the floor beside her armor. In the end, all that remained was the silver crown that sat atop her head. That, Jutta would never touch. 

Jutta caressed the curve of her breast, kissing a line up Cerys’s jaw to the tender flesh of her neck. She sucked there, hard enough to draw a gasp and leave what would surely be a bruise tomorrow, although it would be hidden well by Cerys’s customary armor. Cerys gasped, her fingers digging into Jutta’s back. Jutta gripped her by the waist and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. 

She laid Cerys down gently on the covers, kneeling between her thighs and pressing her lips to the creamy skin there. Gods, she loved this woman. From her shrewd mind to her rose petal lips to the dusting of ginger hair she had between her thighs. 

Jutta kissed her way slowly upward, relishing the trembling in Cerys’s legs as she stopped short of her cunt. She sucked on the delicate skin of her thigh, letting her hands roam from Cerys’s hips to the curve of her ass. 

Cerys’s hands were suddenly in her hair, gripping her by the roots and dragging her lips to her cunt. Jutta smirked, flattening her tongue and licking her slowly, in a way that made Cerys gasp and arch her back. She did it again and then sucked on the delicate flesh, savoring the taste of her and the way her fingers tightened their grasp on her hair. 

She slipped two fingers into the warmth of her, curling them in a come-hither motion that made Cerys moan and squeeze tightly around them. Jutta let herself go, let her mind roam the curves and valleys of Cerys’s body as she paid homage to her queen, ignoring the ache in her knees at kneeling on the cold stone tile. Cerys’s muscles drew ever tighter around her, her moans louder and with abandon, her hips rocking in time with the motions of Jutta’s fingers as she lapped at her cunt. 

_Come,_ Jutta willed silently, and Cerys did, shaking as her hands fisted in Jutta’s hair and she cried out loudly enough to wake half her personal guard. Luckily, they knew better than to disturb them here. Cerys collapsed on the bed, still wracked by aftershocks, as Jutta withdrew her fingers and licked the taste of her lover from them. 

Jutta’s own cunt throbbed, aching for friction. For any kind of release. She undid the laces on her trousers, slipping them from her hips, and then climbed atop Cerys, straddling her thigh. 

“I did promise to make you sweat,” she said, bending down to suck at her nipple. Cerys gasped, reflexively grinding her hips upward at Jutta. Jutta grinned. Cerys may have bested her in combat, that was true. But here, for once, she was in control. 

She shifted so that her cunt was pressed against Cerys’s proffered thigh, lowering her weight down onto her lover so that she too could find friction. The soft furs of the bed were a sweet relief from the unyielding stone of the floor, Cerys’s skin mercifully hot and soft against her. Jutta rolled her hips and bit her lip, fighting to suppress a moan. 

She’d not have predicted anything like this for herself, all those months she stood atop the hill near Harviken, easily besting any who challenged her. The rightful queen of Skellige did not surrender. She did not yield, even when bruised and bleeding. She fucked as fiercely as she fought, staring into Jutta’s eyes like she wanted to take her apart piece by piece. 

The scars that streaked her face were a testament to her bravery. Her hands on Jutta’s hips as she rode her were a testament to her love. Jutta gasped, squeezing her own breast as Cerys moved beneath her, savoring the wetness and heat of Cerys against her thigh. 

Their movements gathered heat and momentum with every passing moment, leaving Jutta the one who was sweating and gasping for air. Cerys knew exactly what to do, all the ways to touch her to make her come apart at the seams. She exploited those weaknesses just as effectively in bed as she had on the battlefield, as pleasure shot through Jutta like a current and left her shaking with sweat dripping from her brow. 

Jutta clung to awareness through the fog of her own orgasm, fighting to maintain her pace though the continued friction of Cerys’s thigh against her bordered on torture. She had never been one to cede a fight halfway through. Things should be no different now. 

She bent down and cupped Cerys’s jaw, caressing her breast with her other hand as she pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. “Come for me, my queen,” she murmured as she ground her thigh against Cerys’s slick cunt, pouring every ounce of lust she had to spare into her words. 

They had their intended effect. Cerys spasmed under her, crying out as she arched her back and gripped Jutta’s hips hard enough to bruise. 

Jutta grinned in satisfaction. She didn’t care about the marks. They could join the ones left from sparring earlier—trophies of battles won as well as lost. It was a wonder her skin wasn’t entirely marked with violet by now. She bent down to kiss her again and was surprised as Cerys suddenly flipped her so that she was pinned to the bed by her wrists, the queen’s weight bearing down on top of her.

“Next time,” Cerys growled in her ear, “I’m goin’ to be on top. I’ll show you what it really means to sweat.”

Jutta wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat. 

And as Cerys bent down and kissed her ravenously, she found she didn’t care.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to rarepair hell! As far as I can tell, Jutta doesn't even have a character tag. That's a travesty in and of itself. I adore these two fiery women and I think they'd be unstoppable together.
> 
> If you liked the story, please drop me a comment! I love hearing from you :)


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